Miranda's Choice
by Emi-Chan1
Summary: Another Miranda POV ... Miranda's thoughts when she decides not to use the cloth (MAJOR Greater Good spoilers)


It was a surprise to me when I first woke up. One minute I had been doing tests in the lab and the next thing I know, I'm in a hospital room with a virus that is incurable.  
  
Correction, *almost* incurable. There *is* the cloth. The cloth that is just about disintegrated with all of that oxidization.  
  
It's really terrible. Every once in a while, Peggy comes in the room to inform me that they haven't found a cure yet, but they're still working on it. I can tell by the look in her eyes that it's pretty much hopeless. I'm doomed, unless a miracle happens, like a cloth that can heal people.  
  
Back to the cloth issue. If I touch it, I'm pretty much guaranteed a recovery. I mean, just look at all the evidence! The glaucoma, the cancer, Declan's hand ... I could very easily be healed.  
  
Just one problem. The cloth's almost gone and I know that if I use it, there won't be anything left. This miracle will never see the light of day and millions of people will die, all because of me.  
  
I just can't live with that.  
  
If they just have a little more time to work on a preservative, they can make it possible for what's left of the cloth to heal so many people. Unfortunately, I won't be able to hold on forever. By the time they can preserve it, I'll be dead.  
  
Is it really that selfish to want to use it? I mean, I never saw myself dying so young. I always thought that I'd live ... well I don't know how long I want to live, but older than twenty-four.  
  
Yes, I would be selfish. I would be giving my own life first priority over the lives of so many people. I know that if I use it, then whenever I walk past someone dying in a hospital room, just like I am now, I'll think about how I could have saved that person, if I hadn't been so selfish.  
  
What about Declan? He's going to want to save me, I just know it. I'm not trying to put down his ability to prioritize, but he tends to be thickheaded sometimes, in his own little adorable way. I'm going to miss him.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
So here I am with this 'Do Not Recessitate' thing right in front of me. All I have to do is sign it.  
  
What's the matter with me? How hard is it to scrawl out 'Miranda Fiegelsteen' on a piece of paper? I've done it so many times before without even paying attention.  
  
Of course, it's never been a life-or-death situation. Once I sign this, I'm pretty much dead. There's no turning back.  
  
It's just so hard to let Declan down like this. When I talked to him, I could just tell how much he wanted me to live. I know it's hard for him to lose a friend. It's hard for me, too. This would just be so much easier if I didn't have this recurring image of Declan standing by my bed with this look in his eyes ... It was like he wanted to do something, but he couldn't.  
  
Well, he technically could, if he used the cloth on my anyway, but he couldn't if he respected my last wish.  
  
That brings me back to the point that I *am* dying here. Did I ever really stray from that point? That's another thing that's keeping me from signing this. My life. I just have this urge to hang on to it, even though I know how selfish that is. I just don't want to die.  
  
Life or death? The question is tearing me apart, even though I know what my answer is going to be. I know that even if I find a million arguments to prove that I should live, I'll always come back to all of the people who will die if I live. I'll always come back to all of the guilt I'll feel knowing that I am responsible for all of these deaths that could have been prevented. I just can't let that happen. I'll just skip over all of the self-arguments and sign this stupid thing.  
  
There. That's it, the last document I'll ever have to sign.  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
It's so hard to just wait for death to come. I've been lying here in the hospital bed for hours and I still haven't been able to get any sleep.  
  
There's a part of me that's still wondering whether or not I made the right decision, but there's no turning back now. I've already signed the DNR and I've already told Declan not to use the cloth on me. There's nothing left for me to do except to wait.  
  
Why did this have to happen to me? Why did I have to cut myself on that stupid dead guy's big toe? How is it that I didn't get a chance to touch the cloth before it started disintegrating? Why am I here, dying at such a young age? All of these questions keep popping in my head and I can't get them out.  
  
If only I could live the past few days over again. If only I had a chance to prevent this from happening. I could do *something* to help me to live, but it's too late for that. I'm just lying here, waiting for death.  
  
Maybe if I close my eyes, I can just fall asleep. That's all I need right now. I need to fall asleep ...  
  
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*  
  
I'm sixteen again, in my school orchestra, playing my violin. Mr. Harrison, the conductor, is keeping time with his baton. Everything is exactly the same. I look to my right to see the familiar face of Trenton Peersen, the first chair violinist, and the only guy I had ever had a crush on, if you could even call it a crush. It was more like an awe at his ablilty to play the violin.  
  
All of the sudden, Declan burst into the room and yelled, "What do you want? Do you want to die? Is that it?" Peggy comes from behind him and murmurs something that I can't decipher.  
  
Now I'm in second grade, working on my times tables, or in reality, doodling on the times table sheet, because I already knew them by heart. The teacher is asking people at random who knows what answers.  
  
Now I'm in the lab and I'm taking the cloth out of the box it was in. I'm healing myself. I can feel the sickness draining out of me. It's gone.  
  
Now I'm in the hospital room. Declan is being escorted out by police officers, while Peggy and Maggie stand and watch, Maggie holding the box the cloth was in. The cloth isn't there. I can feel it in my hand.  
  
Wait a minute.  
  
I'm not dreaming. I'm alive. 


End file.
